It was dark, but she was perfectly comfortable in the dark. She had to be, really, for much of her life had been spent in darkness, only varying in its source. Darkness of night, of room, of life, of spirit, of circumstance… perhaps, as she'd often wondered, it was because the darkness ruled her life. And perhaps it was fate, of destinty, or whatever, because somehow, she'd always been strong enough not to become the darkness, no matter that she'd lived and breathed it.
Even still, you can't bathe in dirt without getting dirty.
The stars overhead shone brightly, and the moon, nearly full, was out as well. She thought the sight was as beautiful as ever; she never tired of looking at the stars. They were even… comforting, in an odd sort of way. They were always there, always beautiful, no matter what was going on in her life; even if she couldn't see them. One shot past, the comets' trail a fiery bluish green, and Hermione smiled. She stopped walking for a moment, closing her eyes and wishing. With all her heart, she wished that the summer would come out alright. That she'd survive it all, fulfill the contract, and return to Hogwarts.
Opening her eyes, she focused her attention back down to earth. She was only a few dozen steps from the huge front door of her parents' house, but the distance felt more like a mile, just now. She'd intentionally not taken any pain potions starting two hours ago (her parents would surely notice if she suddenly acted perfectly fine), and now the remnants of the earlier doses were wearing off. She felt odd following the sidewalk that lead from the gate to the front of the house; it wasn't a route she often took, and she felt almost like a visitor. Normally, she went through the garage, and the garage had almost-direct access to the street, the driveway being only perhaps a third as long as this walkway. Gazing up at the front of the sprawling building she'd lived in all her life, a rather sarcastic and twisted part of her found humor in the brightly glowing, open, welcoming look of the light shining out the many windows. Reaching the door, she heaved a sigh; this was likely to go rather poorly, considering it was late, and she hadn't asked permission to visit the wizarding district.
But just as she reached for the doorknob, she felt the oddest thing. It was as though something told her "leave", but… what could it mean? Shrugging the feeling off, she reached for the doorknob again.
Don't!
It was almost like a voice, but that wasn't exactly what it was. The meaning was clear enough, but it was more like a feeling than thought or word. Why would she be having bad feelings about opening the door? They wouldn't be that mad. Shaking herself, and attributing it to her own paranoia, Hermione reached again for the door.
NO!
This time, it was more like a scream, and Hermione jumped back nearly a foot, dropping her hand. Glancing quickly around, she retreated to the side of the house to sort things out. She wasn't about to pretend she hadn't heard (felt?) anything this time. Surely the voice, intuition, feeling - whatever it was – would know how badly not-going-in-at-all would end. Which meant it had to be something else. Had she left a potion or a magic text in the non-magic part of her pack? Did she leave some slip of paper in her pocket that would hint of her new job, or that she did any more than simply change money and buy muggle study guides today?
She rifled through every pocket, pouch, and paper on her person and in her bag. Nothing showed as out of place. Well – nothing that wasn't intended to seem out of place, anyways. Her parents still thought her a total slob, and she wasn't about to go changing that image – messes helped to hide things, and allowed them to think her a fool, despite her intelligence. If she suddenly seemed organized, if she didn't have bills wadded up with receipts, or dog-eared store flyers mixed in with lazily shoved together purchases, they wouldn't believe the seemingly accidentally left evidence of minor infractions – like the receipt for the bottle of soda she'd stuck in her pocket, wadded together with the receipt for the muggle texts. They'd punish her for it, sure; but having found evidence of her "perpetual wickedness", they wouldn't look any further. But if they stopped finding such things, they might just think to look further, or to suspect her capable of hiding something.
And she couldn't afford that. She couldn't afford any mistakes, not this summer.
So what was it? She'd had such feelings before, but they were usually clearer; she must've been distracted. Closing her eyes, she thought about approaching the door again, concentrated on the feelings that had coursed through her every time she reached for the handle. She felt them again, slowly, looking for what had drawn her, what had stopped her, what was the source.
And there it was. The sensations sorted themselves out into sentences, but the meaning surprised her. "leave" became Leave it; "Don't" was suddenly Don't take the Pack, and "NO!" No magic.
It was getting later every minute, though, and she didn't really have the time to spend hours out behind the garage, huddled in the shadows, sorting through odd messages. Shrugging the pack from her shoulders, Hermione pulled out the collapsible pack she'd brought to Diagon Alley. She dumped her muggle books into it, and reached to shove her new magical pack into a shrub. With the servants gone, no-one but her would see the bushes before she could retrieve it. A last impulse, however, made her dig out a book from Flourish and Blott's that wasn't necessary to her plans (in fact, it was simply a book on wizarding universities that she'd bought to help keep herself motivated). Tugging off the cover, she swapped it for that of a muggle book of the same size. Shoving the muggle book with wizarding cover back into the bag, the whole lot was soon hidden by tidily-trimmed shrubbery.
As she walked again towards the front door, her sense of dread grew steadily. By the time she reached for the door, she felt more as though she were intentionally seeking out her execution than her parents. As her hand brushed the doorknob, and the door swung soundlessly open, fear came upon her like none she'd ever known. Unfortunately, no odd urges suggested how she might lessen whatever was to come. Instead, she felt an odd certainty that she'd done all she could.
It wasn't really very reassuring.
She crossed the foyer, the soles of her shoes still echoing slightly, despite her best efforts. She entered the center archway, exchanging her shoes at the edge of the carpet for the white slippers left there for that purpose. At the far end of the hall, she turned left, the corridor to this side carpeted in blue instead of white, and requiring a corresponding trade for blue slippers, which elicited an eye roll as always. It was the only time she was glad for her fathers' influence; if Hermione's mother had her way, there'd be a set of slippers for every room in the place.
Another long trek brought her to the door to her mothers' study, which she rapped on gently.
"Come in." Came a voice, one far deeper than the one she was expecting.
Dreading the reason her father would have for waiting up for her in her mother's study, Hermione swung open the door. "Mother asked me to come by when I got home." She stated neutrally, noting that both parents were in the room, and looked rather unhappy. Her father glared at her, from his position, with one hip perched on the large mahogany desk her mother sat at. His gaze was sharp and filled with venom, suggesting only darkness and pain.
Her mother's glare was no weaker. "How was your day?" She asked, in a would-be-casual tone that reeked of threat and warning.
Unnerved, Hermione forgot to think out her answer. "Long." She replied honestly, but realized quickly that such a statement might be seen as a complaint. "But productive." She added, as though satisfied with herself.
Her father snorted derisively. "I'll bet."
" Richard" Her mother said, sharply, though she didn't lessen her glare, either.
Hermione kept her expression neutral, but inside, she was terrified. It was as though they knew what she'd been up to. That, or this was one of those occasions where she'd be punished for an imagined wrong, where they'd decided her guilty of something horrid, and would refuse to hear her pleas of innocence. It had happened so many times before, that she had a notebook, where she kept a log of all such unjust punishments, and of what she'd been accused of. Someday, when she was free of her parents, she intended to earn every last punishment on that list; to commit every single crime. But this was different still, and far worse. They were angry, truly angry, and this could only end badly.
The silence stretched out, and Hermione forced herself to fidget, in hopes that they would keep to the pretense of "normal" if she responded like a guilty child. She stared at the ground, shifting foot to foot, though her urge was to freeze still and not move, or perhaps to run.
"Give your bag to your father, Hermione." Her mother said.
Hermione passed over the bag, silently.
"Empty your pockets. Take off your slacks, and give them here."
No games, this time, she could hear it in her mother's tone. The switch in her mind flipped, and the colors of the room shifted to grey. Hermione followed the orders of the woman before her, face completely blank, emotions gone entirely. The others in the room took no notice.
"There's nothing here." Her father said, his voice a mix of anger and expectation.
Her mother pulled an odd-looking green device from the desk, somewhat resembling half a wand, and waved it over both the pants and the pockets' contents. "Nor here, except that she picked up a soda. Getting smarter, this one is. We'll have to watch her." The woman sighed, examining her critically, as though to contemplate where else something might be hidden. "Your shirt, as well, then."
Hermione pulled off the article of clothing without a word or wasted movement. The woman searched its pockets, again sweeping it with the green rod, before calling her over. The nameless object was waved over her body, before her mother patted her down, snorted, and returned her clothing. "Put it back on, twit. You wouldn't be clever enough to hide anything on you, anyways."
"We'll have to search the house, and the grounds." The woman said.
"Nonsense." The man said. He was now flipping through notebooks, page by page. "We'll just get her to tell us."
"I wouldn't've thought she'd have it in her, really. I hardly believed she'd betray us, lie to us, for something so ..." The woman responded, now reaching across to the pile the man was making on the desk, and examining books critically.
Hermione carefully took in the information, storing it word-for-word, but unable to process it without risking herself.
The woman flipped one of the books open, and frowned. She checked the cover, and then the book again. She studied the page for another moment, reading carefully. "Aha! Here it is, Richard! Not so crafty after all!"
"What is it? Curses? Hexes?"
"A guide for Wizarding Universities." Her mother spat, as though she'd discovered pornographic material. "It seems she doesn't intend to listen to us, after all. She intends to go flitting after her hobby, and leaving us, despite all we've done for her. Oh, what grievous sin has brought me such a willful child?"
"An ungrateful, spoiled brat is more the case." The man responded. "Do you know why we knew to look for this, twit?"
"No." Hermione answered, tonelessly. There was no point in pretending, not now, they would ignore the masks anyways, and masks required some measure of herself, which would be too great a risk right now.
"The father of one of your classmates dropped by, today, and told us a bit of a story. He said that his son had carried home some dangerous potions, things for experimenting, some of them quite volatile. He suggested we check your belongings, as well."
Her mother butted in. "Of course, we told him you would never do such a thing. That you were more responsible than that, or at least that you wouldn't lie to us, betray our trust, in such a way."
Her father allowed a moment for the words to "sink in" before continuing. "He suggested we check, and offered to accompany us, just in case, promising to identify anything we found. And right on the top of your trunk, for all eyes to see, where a dozen little stoppered vials. Pain potions, he said, and healing potions."
"He didn't seem to think anything of it." Her mother added. "And apologized for wasting our time. But then, before he left, he suggested you might just be hiding things, or keeping them on your person. We told him you'd gone to the Alley, asked how we could know if you'd gotten anything you shouldn't have, and he gave your father a long look. He gave us this." She held up the rod. "It detects magic and magical objects."
"He explained that, no matter how good, all children have weaknesses. Yours, even he knew, was books. He told us to check you for magic, but that, if we didn't find a wizarding book on you, we'd know you had other hiding places."
Her mother stared at the book in her hand, and sighed. "I suppose he is right, though. There isn't a chance even a normal child could've passed up such an opportunity, and in your case it's ten times as bad; we both know you have no self-control. So. We won't punish you for the book."
Hermione almost relaxed, colors began to seep slowly back into the world. At her father's voice, however, things snapped back to shades of grey.
"We will, however, punish you for trying to hide it from us. As your mother said, it's normal to want something, and to get it, if possible, even if it's forbidden. Trying to deceive us, however, is something only someone like you would do – it's evil, and for that you must be punished."
"Your punishment is one full week in your room." Her mother spoke with finality. "Our trip will be delayed accordingly; as I'm sure you've figured out, that leaves you with only one week at the end of summer to yourself for study. Nothing else changes. You still must do well on the exams, if you wish to work."
Hermione didn't move. There was more to come. Her father hadn't spoken yet.
"And I." He said, deadly soft. "Will ensure you learn the lesson you were meant to. Your potions have all been destroyed. Avoiding your just punishments is not acceptable. You will be taught again, and this time, there won't be any magic to save you."
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